Tantra's Ineluctable Logic

Irritations and pearls

Buddhist wisdom is simply wisdom. It isn’t necessarily any the more wise for being Buddhist. I know my Buddhist friends may not like me saying that, but I’m not all so sure how Buddhist they are to begin with... anyway I have observed how Buddhists do require conversion to Buddhism time and time again. There is a commonplace wisdom that wisdom comes with age, an expression I passionately detested when I was younger (along the same lines: “When you’re older you’ll understand...”).

Today I’d venture there is some truth in it.  For instance I’ve seen that young people just don’t know that failure is success. They only see the failure, and don’t appreciate the opportunity it nearly always presents them. When you get a present, you ought to be saying ‘Thank you!’ Seeing how badly they take defeat always looks so-o-oh pathetic you almost want to feel sorry for the bastards. When people concede defeat (or put themselves at risk) in order to help another person, they become so much bigger for that, they come out winners, don’t they? Young people fail to recognize these simple wisdoms over and over again until they’re too old to benefit from them anymore. By that time they might think they have to express their well-thought-out thoughts to the young people, young people who just won’t buy it whether they’re getting charged for it or not. 

Listen children! Failure keeps us growing and prevents us from getting stuck. Period, full stop. Stop your whining. The one who loses the argument is the one who learns the most, is indeed the successful one. These are things we either know from experience or don’t know at all...  Not that anybody really ever grows up all that much. That’s why reincarnation, if it didn’t exist, would have to be invented. We always have a lot further to go than one life can normally allow time for.

An older person I know, one even older than yours truly, was recently asked what he would like to teach young people, and the first thing that he thought of was this, “There is no such thing as a wrong thought.”  I’ll admit I was a little taken aback by that, perhaps out of a knee-jerk moralistic impulse (I’m an occasional victim, I’ll confess), but I could also see the tantric logic in it. The serpent in the primordial garden convinced us with the help of a drugged apple — to follow an interesting reading of Genesis — that there is a difference between the good thoughts and the bad thoughts, that there’s something godlike about knowing this.  Ever since then we’ve been filled with inner turmoil, tortured by indecision about what would be the right thing to do (and the right thing to think). 

The real problem isn’t this so much as that we’ve placed ourselves at the mercy of our thoughts, whether good or bad, and act impulsively or even unconsciously most of the time...  it’s a problem of awareness and awakening, the rules be damned. We’re here to live, not to be managed or observed or judged. We don’t meditate in order to force ourselves to listen to the mini-fascist in our own minds... Or do we?  ‘You kids behave, and watch those thoughts, they’ll get you into a world of trouble,’ we tell them out of the selfish and probably futile hope they won’t bother us while we’re up to our important adult business. Who tells them to release their grips on those hooks they’ve got sticking into them? Who tells them to jump over those walls they've had built around them or they built around themselves? Who helps them see the bigger and more meaningful connections between what they’ve got inside and what’s going on outside?  Who tells them that real ethics have to come spontaneously out of an awakened goodness inside and not imposed by some dull authority outside? Dull authorities make us dull fellows who need to be told what we ought to find of interest instead of finding out on our own.

Well, true, I hear you... just as bad are the fate-focussed people who think life is a computer game full of insurmountable obstacles and insist on living it like it is one, as if there were no question our aims are the only ones there are. Those aims will probably never be achieved, or at least not achieved enough. This attitude itself is a big part of what gets in our way. We can’t stop and reflect, let alone admit that we’re on a fast flight to nowhere of significance. That’s why tantric logic is a life requirement, as crazy and radical as it may sometimes seem to some. 

No doubt I’ll be criticized for appending these dangerous ideas from Āryadeva, the tantric teacher of the 7th century or so, in a set of verses called Treatise on Mind Purification. It’s a book without an outline, moving from subject to subject kind of like our minds are always doing whether we notice or not. But these particular verses do share a common theme, if you can detect it. I’ll call it tantric logic to put a name to its many faces. As much as it might seem counter-intuitive, it’s a whole lot more important than going to those hundred places before you die. And just between friends, it isn’t about justifying the selfish actions of your cheating heart. Don’t even go that way. It’s in that direction that the bigger dangers lie.

“Water in the ear can be removed by water,

a thorn can be removed with a thorn.

Just so the wise know how to remove

desire with desire.

Just as the laundryman uses dirt

to purify a dirty garment,

a wise person also uses

dirt to clean dirt itself.

As the dust motes on a mirror

when wiped help make it clean,

so, to rely on the wise,

faults are overcome by faults.

If a metal ball is put in water

it sinks to the bottom,

but if it is shaped into the right vessel,

not only does it not sink, it holds up others.

In some way a mind that is the right vessel,

through the workings of wisdom and means,

gets disentangled while acting on impulse

and disentangles others as well.

When a confused consciousness uses it

desire is the chains themselves.

When wise persons use it

desire brings them all the way to freedom.

All the world knows

that milk cures poisonings,

but if a snake drinks it

its poison is multiplied.

The swan knows how to sip out the milk

from a mixture of water and milk.

The wise person, while acting in the

poisoned sensory realms, is freed.

If done according to procedures,

even poison can be made into the acqua vitae,

while children who don’t know how to eat

butter or molasses can be poisoned by them.

Yet to someone who cleanses their own mind

with the appropriate measures

its unthinkable, unimaginable

pure nature shines bright.

Even the smallest flame,

making use of the butter, wick, etc.,

clear, pure and steady

dispels the most obdurate darkness.

The Banyan seed though small

under the right conditions

will grow into a giant tree

with roots, branches and flowers.

When mustard is mixed with mineral powders

a different color is produced.

In a similar way the wise know the Dharma Realm

through the workings of wisdom and means.

Butter and honey in equal proportions

can be a harmful combination,

but when taken in the right way,

it can be the best nutritional program.

Putting mercury in copper

makes it perfectly golden.

Just so the application of true Total Knowledge

makes mental complexes into something worthwhile.”

 §   §   §

When I made this partial translation back in around 1990, I was staying in Nepal and had access to a classic work of Indian Tibetology, an edition by P. B. Patel of the  Cittaviśuddhiprakaraṇa of Āryadeva: Sanskrit and Tibetan Texts, Visva‑Bharati Research Publications (Santiniketan 1949). I wish I had it now, since it served as the basis for the translation you just saw. In times since those days in Kathmandu two other translations have appeared, and I will very soon supply references to try and help those who might find the exercise of comparison fun or curious. For Wedemeyer’s version of these particular verses, see his pages 365ff; and for Varghese’s, pages 236ff.

Christian Wedemeyer, Vajrayāna and Its Doubles: A Critical Historiography, Exposition, and Translation of the Tantric Works of Āryadeva, doctoral dissertation, Columbia University (New York, April 1999).

Mathew Varghese, Principles of Buddhist Tantra: A Discourse on Cittaviśuddhi‑prakaraṇa of Āryadeva, Munshiram Manoharlal (New Delhi 2008). 

If you have the Dergé Tanjur handy,* you can see the Tibetan text here:  Cittaviśuddhiprakaraṇa (Sems-kyi sgrib-pa rnam-par sbyong-ba zhes bya-ba’i rab-tu byed-pa).  Tôh. no. 1804.  Dergé Tanjur, tantra (rgyud) section, vol. NGI, folios 106v.7‑112r.3.  Translated by Jñānākara and Tshul-khrims-rgyal-ba in around the early- to mid-11th century.

(*Actually, everybody in the world who has an internet connection can get to it almost immediately here at the TBRC.) 

Banyan

• Today's blog was written under the lingering intoxication of a book called Consecrated Venom by Caryl Johnston, who finds refreshingly interesting things to say about the Adam and Eve story in Genesis.

 §   §   §

I will train [myself] to take the defeat upon myself 

And offer the victory to others.

— Langritangpa     

 §   §   §

Postscript: I won’t vouch for the third verse from the last being precisely correct. I’m thinking it isn’t. It’s very possible this verse is the source for a similar one by Sakya Pandita that we saw in an earlier blog. In that one we saw that when you combine (white/ invisible) borates/ borax with (yellow) curcumin/ turmeric, you get stuff called Rosocyanine and Rubrocurcumin, which ought to be which color?  If you don’t remember, have a look here.  Meanwhile, if anybody needs me, I’ll be here in my laboratory. Perhaps you would like to try the experiment for yourself? First get together the necessary ingredients, then do as the scientist does in this video.

Hmmm... Tell me, should we be heading for the book to see if the reading is correct? (or to the library to search out what other text it was copying from?) or should we be going out into the laboratory of life to see if there is something true and effective in it?

Cham Dancers in Ulan Bator

• Illustrations further up:  Irritations and Its Pearl Potential and the Banyan Tree.

§  §  §

Somebody nice nicely sent me a nice copy of the Patel edition, so I'll type in my Tibetan version of Patel's Tibetan version for those who may want it (leaving off Patel's notes), starting at verse 37 on p. 24 and ending with verse 51 on p. 27 (perhaps I'll put in Patel's Sanskrit later on):

རྣ་ལས་ཆུ་ལ་ཆུ་ཉིད་དང་།
ཚེར་མ་ཟུག་ལ་ཆར་མ་ཉིད།
དེ་བཞིན་ཆགས་པ་ཆགས་ཉིད་ཀྱིས།
མཁས་པ་རྣམས་ཀྱིས་འཛི་ནཔར་བྱེད།།

དཔེར་ན་ཁྲུས་མཁན་དྲི་མ་ཡས།
གོས་ཀྱི་དྲི་མ་མེད་པར་བྱེད།
མཁས་པའི་བདག་ཉིད་དེ་ལྟར་ན།
དྲི་མ་ཉིད་ཀྱིས་དྲི་མ་སེལ།།

ཇི་ལྟར་མེ་ལོང་རྡུལ་དག་ལ།
ཕྱིས་པས་དག་པར་འགྱུར་བ་ཡིན།
དེ་བཞིན་མཁས་པས་བསྟེན་པ་ཡིས།།
སྐྱོན་གྱིས་སྐྱོན་རྣམས་འཇོམས་པར་བྱེད།།

ལྕགས་ཀྱི་གོང་བུ་ཆུར་བཅུག་ན།
ཇི་ལྟར་གཏིང་དུ་འགྲོ་བར་འགྱུར།
དེ་ཉིད་སྣོད་དུ་བྱས་པས་སུ།
བདག་དང་གཞན་ཡང་སྒྲོལ་བར་བྱེད།།

དེ་བཞིན་སྣོད་དུ་བྱས་པའི་སེམས།
ཤེས་རབ་ཐབས་ཀྱི་ཆོ་ག་ཡིས།
འདོད་པས་སྤྱོད་བཞིན་གྲོལ་བར་འགྱུར།
གཞན་དག་ཀྱང་ནི་གྲོལ་བར་བྱེད།།

རྣམ་ཤེས་ངན་པས་བསྟན་བྱས་ན།
འདོད་པ་ཆིང་བ་ཉིད་དུ་འགྱུར།
དེ་ཉིད་མཁས་པས་བསྟེན་བྱས་ནས།
འདོད་པ་ཐར་པར་རབ་ཏུ་སྒྲུབ།།

འོ་མས་དུག་ནི་ཞིག་གྱུར་བ།
འཇིག་རྟེན་ཀུན་ལ་རབ་ཏུ་གྲགས།
དེ་ཉིད་སྦྲུལ་གྱིས་འཐུངས་ནས་ནི།
དུག་ནི་ཤིན་ཏུ་འཕེལ་བར་བྱེད།།

ཇི་ལྟར་ཆུ་དང་འོ་མ་འདྲེས།
ངང་བ་འོ་མ་འཐུང་བར་མཁས།
དེ་བཞིན་དུག་བཅས་ཡུལ་དག་པས།
མཁས་པས་སྤྱད་ནས་གྲོལ་བར་བྱེད།།

ཇི་ལྟར་ཆོ་ག་བཞིན་སྤྱོད་ན།
དུག་ཀྱང་བདུད་རྩིར་འགྱུར་བ་ཡིན།
བྱིས་པ་རྣམས་མར་བུ་རམ་སོགས།
བཟའ་མ་ལེགས་པ་དུག་ཏུ་འགྱུར།།

གང་དག་སེམས་ནི་འདི་ཡིད་ཀྱང་།
གཏན་ཚིགས་བཟང་པོས་སྦྱང་བྱས་ན།
རྣམ་པར་མི་རྟོག་དམིགས་མེད་པ།
རང་བཞིན་དྲི་མེད་རབ་ཏུ་སྣང་།།

ཇི་ལྟར་མེ་ནི་ཆུང་ངུ་ཡང་།
མར་དང་སྡོང་སོགས་འདུས་བྱས་པས།
སྣང་བ་དྲི་མེད་མི་གཡོ་བ།
བརྟན་པའི་མུན་རྣམས་འཇིག་པར་འགྱུར།།

དཔེར་ན་ནྱ་གྲོ་དའི་ས་བོན།
ཆུང་ཡང་རྐྱེན་དང་ལྡན་པ་ན།
རྩ་བ་ཡལ་ག་མེ་ཏོག་ལྡན།
ཆེན་པོའི་ཤིང་དུ་འཕེལ་བར་བྱེད།།

ཡུང་དང་རྡོ་ཐལ་སྦྱར་བ་ལས།
ཁ་དོག་གཞན་ཞིག་འབྱུང་བར་འགྱུར།
ཤེས་རབ་ཐབས་ཀྱི་ཆོ་ག་ཡིས།
ཆོས་དབྱིངས་མཁས་པ་དེ་ལྟར་ཤེས།།

མར་དང་སྦྲང་རྩི་མཉམ་པར་ལྡན།
དེ་དུག་ཉིད་དུ་འགྱུར་བ་ཡིན།
དེ་ཉིད་ཆོ་ག་བཞིན་སྤྱད་ན།
བཅུད་ཀྱི་ལེན་གྱི་མཆོག་ཏུ་འགྱུར།།

དངུལ་ཆུས་རེག་པའི་ཟངས་མ་ནི།
ཇི་ལྟར་སྐྱོན་མེད་གསེར་དུ་འགྱུར།
དེ་བཞིན་ཡང་དག་ཡེ་ཤེས་ནི།
སྦྱངས་པས་ཉོན་རྨོངས་བཟང་པོར་བྱེད།།

•

One PS: I notice the yung in verse 49 is in the Sanskrit version haridrā, and that means curcuma, or turmeric if you prefer (that means the ‘mustard’ translation is not right), while for the rdo-thal [mineral powder] of the Tibetan, the Sanskrit has cūrṇa, which ought to mean chalk or [mineral] lime.  So I’m not 100% the chemistry experiment here is identical to Sa-paṇ’s. Only 90% maybe.

Another PS:  A. Annapoorani, K.R. Anilakumar, Farhath Khanum, N. Anjaneya Murthy & A.S. Bawa, "Studies on the Physicochemical Characteristics of Heated Honey, Honey Mixed with Ghee and Their Food Consumption Pattern by Rats," Ayu: An International Quarterly Journal of Research in Ayurveda, vol. 31, no. 2 (April 2010), pp. 141-146.  It's yogurt Tibetans say should only be eaten uncooked, and about this rule our tandoori cooks seem to know nothing.

Yet another PS:  Vijaya Deshpande, "Transmutation of Base-Metals into Gold as Described in the Text Rasārṇavakalpa and Its Comparison with the Parallel Chinese Methods," Indian Journal of History of Sciences, vol. 19, no. 2 (1984), pp. 186-192.  

There is a kind of follow-up blog, dated June 15, 2021:  

https://tibeto-logic.blogspot.com/2021/06/puzzle-solved-another-padampa-metaphor.html

Eye Shades

Apologies, dear reader, for the shady snapshot. It was taken under dark conditions in the Choijin Lama Temple in downtown Ulaan Baatar a few days ago. Just seeing this image (not the photo of it) was so exciting for me I was glad to fork over the astronomical camera fee of 25,000 tugruks. I’m supposing you’re already wondering about the title of today’s blog (is it about eye makeup? eyemasks for napping on the plane?) and what it could have to do with this fuzzy photo. Although this small item you can barely make out here has been subject to small but I would say significant confusions, I’ll hold you in suspense no longer than the absolute minimum time necessary, meaning no time at all.

The Yisun dictionary, at the end of its 3 (or 2, or 1) volumes, has among its illustrations something it calls mig-ra, and it looks like this:

I think mig-ra must etymologize as eye wall;
that is, unless you have some better idea.

Rather than calling them shades, perhaps they are better described as snow goggles or sun-reflecting-off-the-snow glasses (sans glass, of course). Anyway, they are used specifically for protecting the eyes from going blind from the glare of the sun on the snow, a condition naturally known as snow blindness.

Three centuries ago, the Jesuit missionary Desideri had this to say about them (in Michael Sweet's fresh new translation, p. 172):

“To protect the eyes from being damaged by the reflection of the sun's rays off the snows through which one has to travel, they use protectors resembling concave nets woven from black horsehair or the black hair of mountain oxen. Lacking these my eyes pained me greatly for some days, and I was in danger of losing my sight when my companions suggested that I rub my eyes with snow over and over, which proved to be the remedy.”

I find personally that hot towels can be very soothing to sore eyes, but I could also concede — or even swear — that the cause of the complaint can at times supply the cure.

William W. Rockhill, one of the most preeminent of the early North American Tibetologists, not only said this,

“The following day we managed, after much hard work through the deep, soft snow, to reach the summit of the Zonyig la (Altitude, 16,300 feet)...  The sky was clear, so the radiation of the sun on the snow caused us much discomfort, though we wore the horsehair eye-shades used in the country, and by the time we made camp in the Ranyik Valley, three of us were nearly blind.”

he even illustrated a set of mig-ra together with a case specially designed to hold it:

Although they do look rather abnormally large, I believe the mig-ra is the thing there on the head of the Karma Kagyü master Go-shri Dpal-’byor-don-grub, as he is depicted in David Jackson’s book, pp. 200-201, and not a “distinctive black-lobed headdress” as it is there infelicitously described. Here is a version of one of these thangkas found through a Google image search:

See, too, Christian Luczanits’s article for a reproduction of a “hitherto unidentified Sakya teacher of c. 1400 with a black net attached to the front of his hat.” I take the liberty of photographing the face of this image:

So sorry, wrong image. Let me try that again:

For those who by chance or innocence or total weirdness didn’t recognize His Holiness in shades, I assure you that what you saw there was none other than He Himself, styling some mean sunblocking instruments in Amsterdam, famous in world history for the invention of optical devices, being home of, among others, Christiaan Huygens (1629-1695), who proved that light doesn’t hit us all at once, but takes a bit of time. I could have told you that.

In Calgary

Here, too, we see Him wearing one of His very many hats. One of my favorites? The Calgary white cowboy hat. But anyway, these are hats, and a little bit off and over the subject.

There’s still a different type of eye shade that shouldn’t be confused with the mig-ra, since actually it’s more like a fringe.  You might see it worn by Tibetan Lamas during initiation rites (when they are wearing the དབང་རྫས་), as well as on Siberian shamans when they go into trance. You decide what that means, if you can.

I believe the word for this special kind of eye-covering fringe is dom-ra,* which would seem to mean bear wall, although the Yisun dictionary, in the previously mentioned section of illustrations, depicts what may be a special kind of dom-ra it knows as gzi-dom (གཟི་དོམ་).

(*Goldstein’s latest dictionary has an entry for དོམ་ར་: “a bear skin band worn with the fur hanging over the eyes to prevent snow blindness.”  For གཟི་དོམ་ there is nothing at all. I can point to one example of usage of the word dom-ra in Roerich’s Blue Annals, p. 888, that you can check if you’re curious.)

Does that name mean glare bear? I’d welcome clarification on this point. I’d love clarification on any point, actually. My idea is that the dom-ra may be placed above the eyes to protect them, but unlike the mig-ra it isn’t placed over the eyes, is it? I guess you can see what I’m getting at.

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Publications and/or web sources cited:

Alexander Gardner, “The First Gyeltsab, Peljor Dondrub.”  Look here, and take note of the shades.

David Jackson, Patron and Painter: Situ Panchen and the Revival of the Encampment Style, Rubin Museum of Art (New York City 2009), at pp. 200-201, with reproductions of two paintings of Go-shri Dpal-’byor-don-grub (གོ་ཤྲཱི་དཔལ་འབྱོར་དོན་གྲུབ་), regarded as the first Gyaltsab Rinpoche (རྒྱལ་ཚབ་རིན་པོ་ཆེ་) of the Karma Kagyü (ཀརྨ་བཀའ་བརྒྱུད་) order.  You can find a bit on him at this TBRC page, but much more in the Gardner entry from Treasury of Tibetan Lives just now noticed above.

Christian Luczanits, “Art-Historical Aspects of Dating Tibetan Art,” contained in: Ingrid Kreide-Damani, ed., Dating Tibetan Art, Dr. Ludwig Reichert Verlag (Wiesbaden 2003), pp. 25-57, at p. 46.

Rgod-tshang-pa Mgon-po-rdo-rje (1189-1258 CE).  In a listing of several publications of his collected and selected works, one typed by yours truly (for which, look here) there are several short titles devoted to the mig-ra that I ought to have a look at. I’ll report back to you when I have done this. These works would have a bearing on a question not yet asked about the age of the object in Tibetan cultural history.  (There are some possible but problematic mentions in Old Tibetan documents that ought to be considered.)  [August 21, 2013:  Oh my, this is interesting.  I'll have to put up a new blog on it, but in these 13th-century texts it is quite clear the mig-ra is used to shield the eyes of sentient beings from the intense light emanating from the eyes of the yogi wearing them (or it?)... It doesn't protect the eyes of the wearer from the glare of the light; just the contrary, it protects other people from the glare of the wearer's eyes...  Very interesting... especially in light of what came up in the comments section, below...  And yes, there is another motive for shading the eyes I haven't talked about, one much in evidence with Hollywood celebrities.]

William Woodville Rockhill (1854-1914), The Land of the Lamas: Notes of a Journey through China, Mongolia and Tibet, Longmans, Green and Co. (London 1891), quote at pp. 201-202, with illustration on p. 175.  Even better is another work by Rockhill entitled Notes on the Ethnology of Tibet, fortunately (since I have no print copy) archived on the internet here. Once there, go to the text on p. 722, and plate 30 that comes just after it.

Jeff Watt, “Eye Coverings.”  A much-recommended page at "Himalayan Art Resources."

Zhang Yisun (1893-1983), et al., Bod Rgya Tshig-mdzod Chen-mo, Mi-rigs Dpe-skrun-khang (Beijing 1985). I realize Yisun is not the family name, but I use it anyway because it is more distinctive.

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Nobody should be too surprised that there are some sites on the internet devoted to the hats of His Holiness. Try a google-box search for "Dalai Lama's Hats" and you'll see what pops up. One in particular I hesitate to link you to, even though the photo collection is a fine one, since some of the pictures have been doctored, and the text that goes with them is largely inspired by gangsta rap, which isn't everybody's idea of respect, or even good taste.  Oh well, here it is since you insist, although older people who aren't used to this language ought to stay home and avoid going there. Now go blame its blogger. On a lighter note, some fashion writers have had the temerity to question or cautiously laud His progressive sense of style in His choice of head accessories, in particular the visors, like this one.  One blog questions His tendency to always wear the hat of the home team in the place he happens to be, and there is really something to this when you think about it (besides, have a look at this photographic evidence overwhelmingly in favor of what could otherwise appear to be a feeble thesis).

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“Modern dark spectacles have nothing on primitive eye-shades. In the Arctic split bones or pieces of wood protect the eyes from snow-blindness; woven eye-shades of all shapes are common in Melanesia and Polynesia and in South America, with thin black-felt veils as their Tibetan counterparts.”

For the archived source of the quote, look here.

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Screen shot from the Dolan movie

Next time you're in Ulan Bator, check out the amazing Choijin (in Tibetan ཆོས་སྐྱོང་) Temple if you can possibly spare the time. It’s just south of the blue sky.

In the face of so much brilliance, you may need your eye protection. And if you do go there, be so kind as to check the lost and found for my prescription reading glasses. I might have left them there. They had green rims and I do miss them.